Carrickfergus
by Celtic Leigh
Summary: I re-write story. Concept is the same, but many familiar faces are gone, many new faces have copme, and, oh yeah, I've got a Catholic priest in Chapter 1...I am so cool...
1. Prologue

Under request (actually it was more like a death threat) from Marisa, I am re-writing Carrick. No more mushy love scenes betwixt Cita and Miguel (I killed him off!)! No more Drizzt! And best of all - the rating's gone through the roof.  
  
Actually, all this shares with the original is a prologue, a disease, and a few characters…  
  
***  
  
1 Carrickfergus  
  
I wish I was in Carrickfergus,  
  
Only for nights in Ballygrant,  
  
I would swim over the deepest ocean,  
  
Only for nights in Ballygrant.  
  
But the sea is wide and I can't swim over,  
  
And neither have I the wings to fly.  
  
If I could find me a handsome boatsman,  
  
To ferry me over to my love and die.  
  
Now in Kilkenny, it is reported,  
  
There are marble stones as black as ink,  
  
With gold and silver I did support her,  
  
But I'll sing no more now 'till I get a drink.  
  
I'm drunk today, and I'm seldom sober,  
  
A handsome rover from town to town.  
  
Ah, but I'm sick now my days are over,  
  
Come all ye young lads and lay me down.  
  
***  
  
"Hail Mary, full of Grace,  
  
The Lord is with thee.  
  
Blessed art thou among women,  
  
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb,  
  
Jesus.  
  
Holy Mary, Mother of God,  
  
Pray for us sinners,  
  
Now, and at the hour of our death.  
  
In nomine Patris et Filius et Spiritui Sanctus, Amen."  
  
The prayer echoed around the cell walls, a desperate plea to a God she fervently hoped existed.  
  
***  
  
The Nightmare came again. Black as night, the stallion ran up to him, crushing him with his hooves, breathing fire into his face, asphyxiating him with the smoke. Death, please ... NO. I will keep you alive. I want you to suffer. Want you to die. Oh, you poor mortal, I pity you. You will not die. Not for a thousand years and more. Curse the gods that rule your life, that did this to you.  
  
***  
  
I'm drunk today, and I'm seldom sober,  
  
A handsome rover from town to town.  
  
Ah, but I'm sick now my days are over,  
  
Come all ye young lads and lay me down. 


	2. Pai Estevam

The point isn't what the praga is doing - it's how efficiently it's doing it. We know just as well as you do how they're dying. We just don't know if we can stop them from dying.  
  
The doctors could.  
  
True - but what doctor would come to our city - for any price? He would be infected and would die, bleeding from a thousand pus-filled sores. Who would come to cure if their own life was forfeit?  
  
A truly holy man.  
  
That's the trouble with the world these days - there are no holy men.  
  
***  
  
Why he was going was a mystery no one understood. Not even he had understood it. Until this morning, when he had kissed his mother awkwardly on the cheek, and had said that damning farewell, he wasn't even sure he was going. Even now, he could back out. Strangely enough, he didn't want to.  
  
"Te amo, mama."  
  
"I know you do. But if this is what you must do – do it with all your heart, and do not look back to regret this."  
  
"Estou receoso"  
  
"Pensa que eu não sou?"  
  
"Nenhum…"  
  
"We are all afraid. But we must face our fears. I know that my son will never return to me. But I love him for the sacrifice he is willing to make. I love you, Estevam, I know this is what you want to do. So do it."  
  
"Te amo."  
  
"Sei."  
  
Her last word had haunted him, even now, with the pitching of the deck under his feet, he pondered what she meant. Sei. I know. But what did she know? Did she know that he loved her, or did she know that she could never hold onto him? It was all so difficult…he never knew what to think. The only one who knew how to think was Lauro, and he was almost useless, at least when it came to practical matters, like family. Always imprisoned in his monastery, praying to a Christ that Estevam could never know.  
  
How ironic, then, that I should be the missionary. Lauro is the only one who believes in God's power to heal, and here I who am without a doubt sem fé; I am chosen to heal his people. I am the priest, and he is the monk. How ironic. If there is a God, he must take pleasure in watching us.  
  
"Pai Estevam, there is bad weather ahead. You should get below decks."  
  
"Agradeça, meu filho. I will be down shortly."  
  
He took one last glance at the white spray gracing the ship's prow before retreating below deck to further contemplate the meaning of his mother's words, life, and Lauro. Especially Lauro.  
  
Below decks, he felt more miserable than he did above. Even though he was travado à terra, as the sailors so kindly put it, he knew enough about sailing and of ships to be of some help to the crew. Down here, he truly felt as though he had been locked up. It made him sick – and reminded him of his duty as a priest. Be kind, be good, be humble, be merciful...  
  
He was sick of it. No one was around, so he could express his true thoughts. Even if he had to do penance for it later. "Eu odeio, Deus."  
  
"Such thoughts, and from a priest, no less."  
  
"Estou encontrando-me."  
  
"Portuguese is such an odd language. You mean to say you are lying. You also mean that you are finding yourself. Which is it?"  
  
"Eu não sei. I am a terrible man, to give confessions, and to think such things, even if I do not mean them."  
  
"You are hardly a terrible man, Pai. But you do have your weakness. That, perhaps is why God is sending you to Ireland."  
  
"To my death. Quite a God, if he cannot even protect me from the ravages of the praga."  
  
"You are going willingly."  
  
"No one else will."  
  
"Because God cannot protect them, either. They never had the courage to ask God to protect them."  
  
"This is what I should be saying to you, Magherally, not the other way around."  
  
The young Irishwoman laughed mirthlessly. "We are all human, Estevam. We need each other. We are woven into God's plan, and we can only know that his plan is for the greater good."  
  
"I wish I were more like my brother. He would know what to do. He has faith. I have only an intellectual belief in god. I am no priest."  
  
"Estevam, can you prove that God exists?"  
  
"Can you prove that He doesn't?"  
  
Magherally smiled and gave him a quick kiss on his the cheek. "That's what I love about you, Pai. You deny everything one minute, and embrace it unquestioningly the next."  
  
"God is good, my daughter. He can show Himself to me in the smallest of miracles. Maybe he can show himself in the larger ones, too."  
  
"God forbid. You wouldn't be half as much fun if miracles were guaranteed."  
  
Estevam smiled at her, before quietly retreating into his cabin.  
  
It took an act of tremendous will to look up at the crucifix that hung over his desk – but once that effort had been made, the rest came easily.  
  
"God, you know I am weak. You know I will sin again, but I am asking you, again to forgive me. You understand me, you know my nature, all that is good as well as evil. I love you, but my nature is not my brother's. I question you, and your designs. I beg you to forgive my doubt and my fear. Amen."  
  
Magherally leaned against the thin wood that separated her from Estevam. "Forgive him, Father, for he has sinned, and forgive me also, for my sins of lust. Forgive me for I have sinned, and if I should sin again, I pray that I descend into Hell." 


	3. Lotus

They say a priest is coming to heal you.  
  
We know. He is a doctor, as well.  
  
That is why you let him come? Or because he is a priest?  
  
You ask too much. We let him come because we must.  
  
***  
  
Carmen had folded herself up into the lotus position and was quietly trying to keep her concentration from lapsing, trying to keep herself from slipping into the inherent curiosity she had learned as a Westerner. If she were still in Spain, she would have been considered unspeakably rude - refusing to see a visitor for the sole fact that she didn't like the way he had treated her servant. Jia-lin dozed quietly in the corner; much as she loved her mistress, staying awake for eight hours, doing nothing did wear on one's patience. The elf hadn't even had the courtesy to address her by her Eastern name - Kai-ren - but insisted on calling her by the name she despised, Carmencita. Even though it had taken all her concentration to keep her even mildly uninterested, she felt it beginning to break.  
  
No. I must not break. Until he breaks, I will pay him no heed. Even though he is an elf, and therefore must have almost infinite patience. I will not break.  
  
Kylik Ravenarrow smirked inwardly. He could see that Carmen's composure was beginning to waver, and, in truth he was impressed. She would not hold up much longer but eight hours was a record - especially for one of her impatience.  
  
You are mine, Lady. I am more patient than you are. I will win.  
  
Half an hour later, she gave in.  
  
Liquid gray-green eyes met his, searching, probing. Kylik had never had her look at him in this way, and it made him mildly uncomfortable. After what seemed like an eternity, she spoke.  
  
"Who are you? What do you want from one such as myself?" The questions were not demanding or impatient, the way he remembered Carmen. Rather, they were almost humble, as though she were asking why she was worthy of receiving him, after ignoring him for hours on end."  
  
He didn't answer the underlying question, but rather the ones directly asked. "I am Kylik Ravenarrow, an emissary of a longtime friend you left when you exiled yourself."  
  
"Who would deign me worthy of such an honor - to send an emissary across the deserts to meet with one such as myself who has nothing left to give?" There was a hint of irony in her voice - no doubt she knew exactly who he was, but waited to hear it from his lips so as not to sound presumptuous. She had learned much from China.  
  
"I come as a messenger from the Lady Serpentine. She sends her greetings to you, and requests your aid and knowledge."  
  
"What I have, I will freely give to her - she was my friend, once. But I cannot do what you ask me indirectly. I cannot go back to the West where chaos and order are indistinguishable. I will stay in China - it is my home."  
  
"Carmen - enough. I know as well as you that you're dying of boredom here, and she wasn't your friend once. She still is, and you want to help her. You want to go back to Madrid, but you don't think you can. I, for one, don't give a fuck about what Madrid, Lisbon and Paris have agreed to do to you if they find you within their borders. Marisa needs you, and I'm smart enough to know that you want to go."  
  
Kai-ren gave him a deep bow of humility, before summoning Jia-lin. "Tea, Jia. It is improper to discuss matters of importance with such a distinguished guest, even when he thinks he does not have to curb his tongue because of elfish blood."  
  
Jia-lin nodded, padding away quietly towards the kitchen.  
  
"Kylik, if you wish to speak with me, I must request that you do not assume you know anything about me. You knew me as a young girl - now I have become a woman, and I cannot be rash. Yes, I love Marisa as my own sister, but our paths have separated. She walks through life on the edge of a knife, untamed, wild. I have walked on that knife with her, but my feet were cut open and I retreated to the safety that could be found on the blunt edge of that knife. I am not the person she knew, and I am not a person who can help her."  
  
"Kai-ren, it is precisely because of the compassion and safety which you have adopted as your way of life that the Lady needs you. You think she did not see what you meant to do? Now she needs someone who can find a perfect balance to aid her in her quest."  
  
"I will, perhaps, listen to you. You are wiser than you first seemed, now that I know you were testing me. Jian has brought us the tea - will you not share it with me as my brother in spirit?"  
  
Instead of having Jian pour tea, as was customary, Carmen took the pot from her and poured a thin stream of the hot liquid into his cup, and then into hers. It was a ritual of humility that she almost never lowered herself to, Kylik could see that much by the indelicate grace of her movement.  
  
So you still have some pride left, Cita. You just have to show it by lowering yourself. Marisa was right to choose you.  
  
The tea was taken in silence - Kylik knew enough of the Orient to know that speaking during a ritual as ancient of this was somewhat sacrilegious. When they were done, Jian took back the pots and teacups as quickly and as silently as she had brought them.  
  
"Now, we must turn to business, putting aside all pleasantries." Again, her voice hid an incredible depth of irony.  
  
Kylik smiled openly - so openly, in fact, that she was probably offended. He didn't care. "Ah yes...my humble friend - business as usual. You still haven't lost your touch. I'll assume that you haven't lost your inquisitive mind, and are aware of the situation in Kilkenny."  
  
"Vaguely."  
  
"Tell me what you know."  
  
"It isn't much, but several years ago, a plague - which they rather inventively called the praga - attacked most of Portugal. What made the case odd was that it didn't seem to originate anywhere. It appeared in Lisbon, Aveiro, Setúbal, Guarda and Portimão almost at the same time. The Church eventually managed to kill it off, but the population of Portugal was reduced by a third. Now it seems that Kilkenny, Ireland is experiencing a very similar case of the praga. No evident source, after all they haven't had any contact with Portugal for years, no apparent center, and a devastating effect on population. Ireland doesn't know what to do - because the quarantine they've imposed probably won't work, and people are running around prophesying the coming of the Antichrist. It's quite complicated, but the whole thing will probably work out nicely in the end, and nobody will remember a thing about the praga, considering that the last recorded case of it was in Athens around 430 BC."  
  
"And this is vague knowledge?"  
  
"I do watch the world, even when I'm a self-absorbed, mantic asshole. What connection does this have to you interrupting my meditation and being surly with Jian?"  
  
"Everything. Because Marisa thinks she knows how the praga gets started, and, therefore, how she can cure it. She's come down with a sudden fit of altruism, and actually wants to do it. But she wants you to make sure she doesn't go to far - in either direction."  
  
"Lovely. You pull me out of my Oriental mood, wake up my Western side, and now you want me to go back West in an Oriental mood to save the human race? Of course I'll do it - I'll just hate you forever because of it."  
  
"Excellent. Marisa left a portal conveniently open in your garden - we'll leave as soon as you're ready."  
  
"Good. I just have to roll up my mat, pack my robes, and we're off to see the witch."  
  
"You think she hasn't thought of that? She paid some enormous price to import goza mats, rice paper and red silk to her current headquarters - just so you're comfortable while you contemplate the nature of the universe."  
  
"She knows me too well."  
  
"And she knows you know it. So are you coming, or what?"  
  
Carmen got up like a cat from her cross-legged position, and began a demure walk towards the modest rose garden she kept in the back of her house. The sweet scent of tea leaves and rose hips almost persuaded her to stay where she had been so happy for so long. Still, she could not afford to let Marisa go without her, so, she swallowed her last breath of China's humid air, and stepped into her friend'' studio. 


	4. Sean Keyton

They wait.  
  
Why would the world wait for you? They have banished you.  
  
They wait for us to die, so they may pick over the spoils our rotting bodies leave behind.  
  
Then they will die.  
  
That's the idea.  
  
***  
  
Sean Keyton had never been a complacent child. When he was still young, his parents and friends had called him cruel - he harangued the other children, robbed all those who were weaker than him, and challenged those who weren't. He had last seen Kilkenny at the age of twelve - now he was twenty, a drunkard, a brawler, and too proud. Still, it was fitting that even now, at the hour of death, he should challenge her.  
  
Raven-haired and fair-skinned, Marguerite would have been beautiful; but her face was too scarred and weather-stained for beauty to show through, only her piercing blue eyes and perpetual scowl could be easily recognized as belonging to a woman.  
  
When she spoke, it was not in the cultured, whispery French she had been taught as a child, but the harsh multi-lingual slang of the high seas. She never spoke without reason, and her reasons were usually not pretty.  
  
Sean spat on the beaten wood of the deck in front of her. She paid him no heed, but gave herself a mental note to make his death more painful than originally planned...still, she had to be careful, her crew was hungry for blood, and it wasn't his. She had to keep them in check.  
  
"Gentlemen... I have taught you all you know, I have given you gold, women, everything you could ask...and still you see fit to assassinate me. Fine. Just be intelligent about the whole process of murder. To enforce that notion of intelligence, I'm going to make an example of stupidity - Sean Keyton. I know he was a friend to many of you - he drank more rum and raped more girls than half of you combined. You idolized him, told him to take over, didn't you? Now you can all pay for the notions you put in his head. Sean Keyton, I sentence you to die the death of a thousand cuts."  
  
There was none of the appreciative roar that usually accompanied executions - her words had struck a nerve. Her men had loved Sean. They had never loved Marguerite.  
  
***  
  
Carmen shook her head quickly to get rid of the motion sickness that usually accompanied her travel between portals as she stepped gingerly into Marisa's studio. Her tastes hadn't changed much in the three years she'd been gone - serpent motifs were everywhere, and black seemed to be the predominant colour, seconded by a few glimmers of silver. A few years ago, she would have thought it quietly amusing - now she found it vaguely disquieting.  
  
Marisa was lounging in the center of the room, she had probably been dozing before she and Kylik had come in.  
  
"Oh, excellent...you're back...Pookie, Cita."  
  
Kylik's normally pale green face reddened at her nickname, but he didn't say anything. Carmen bowed low at Marisa, her black locks touching the floor.  
  
"I have come to give what aid I can, Lady Marisa."  
  
Marisa smiled, before turning to the jade elf. "What happened to her? I knew China was a bad idea...but if I had known what it would do to her, I never would have signed that release form."  
  
Carmen scowled a bit before sitting down cross-legged on the floor, looking expectantly at Marisa. "Kylik's told me about ten percent of the story. Now it's up to you to give me the other ninety percent."  
  
"Straight to the point, aren't you? You don't even say hello to your best friend."  
  
"All right. Hello. Is that enough, or do you want me to balance a candlestick on my head and dance?"  
  
"You haven't lost your endearing charm, Cita. All right - you want the whole story, you'll get it, but I'll have to send in for meals."  
  
"Don't bother. It was seven in the morning when you sent Kylik, and I'm guessing it's around eight now. But since I just ate, you can dispose of the formalities."  
  
"All right. Basically, I think I've found some point of origin for the praga."  
  
"Prithee."  
  
"All right. When you look at Portugal and Ireland, the two have almost nothing in common - sure a few things, but they're common to the whole Western World. Maybe even to your half of the globe. My first guess was that this is just something natural, but the facts don't add up - no know start of the disease, no connection between cases, unless this disease is a plague sent from God to eradicate the unjust, blah, blah, blah...it's not natural. So, my second thought was to look at all the victims of the praga. That turned up some very interesting results."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"That the disease is actually quite normal once it's infected someone. It's contagious, you can spread it. It just has so many different points of origin that it can't be natural. About three to four thousand people all contracted it at the same time in Portugal - nature doesn't do that.  
  
`I managed to compile a list of all the origin points to date - and the praga isn't a religious thing, or if it is the Church of Portugal must be irreparably corrupt. But, it's an excellent weapon."  
  
"So is this `sudden fit of altruism' just an excuse for you to get hold of the disease?'  
  
"No. It really is altruism - as well as protection of some hefty investments made in the Irish drug markets."  
  
"I see. So, where's your list of victims?"  
  
"I've put Kitten in charge of it. But, if you look at the points of origin, your victims seem to be chosen at random, completely unrelated. I can find nothing political, or religious that even a small percentage agree on."  
  
"So that's why you brought me in?"  
  
"Yes. Even though you aren't as smart as quite a few of the people I've got - even though you may not live long enough to find a pattern, I think you can do this. Because you're damned good at what you do."  
  
"I'll take that as a compliment. So first things first - what are the symptoms of the praga?"  
  
"It starts out as a mild fever, then you'll get an ugly rash, sores all over your body, big purple bruises. After a few hours, you start bleeding, and those little sores start leaking pus, after which you've got about four days until death. During that time, your muscles appear to be rotting, and I'm pretty sure it does something to your internal organs, but we don't exactly have the chance to find out - bodies are burned, sometimes before they're dead."  
  
"All right. Get me a body, give me the list, and get me interviews with these people. Is Rejal working for you?"  
  
"Yeah - she's looking at Athens to figure out what the hell happened there."  
  
"Excellent. I want to talk to her as soon as I can."  
  
"Any more requests?"  
  
"Yeah. Show me to my room." 


	5. Dire News

After a flood of e-mails from Marisa demanding more Carrickfergus, my computer underwent a small thermonuclear reaction. All characters, places, and plot lines relating to Carrickfergus died of radiation sickness. Don't expect a resurrection in the near future. In the meantime, I'm working on short stories.  
  
---The Author. 


End file.
